A Song of Hopeful Sorrow
by Jashi
Summary: She is the wife of leader, daughter of the Lady, and mother of heroes and heroines alike. She is Celebrian, who fought alongside Elrond in the War of the Ring, and he loved her more than words could say.


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In darkness grows shadow

Where Men cannot see

In the fire does weave

A tale of uncertainty

One among them to fight

One among them to lead

One among them to heal

One among them to see.

A SONG OF HOPEFUL SORROW

By Jashi

This is a tale of love and war, I suppose, in the eyes of a story not told by Tolkien. At least, not much. The story of Celebrían, daughter of the lady, wife of Elrond, and mother of Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen. This story has been told, I think, by others. But this story takes a slightly different view. No flames. Read on. Have fun. Review if you like. Note: I know almost none of the canon for this character, and I refuse personally to slave over research because this is my interpretation. But I will use what I know to be true as I can. I know her name, her death/etc, and a couple minor details. No. Flames. Please. Same story, new title, same author, new name.

::One::

"Thousands of years have and will pass us. Darkness is growing." the Lady Galadriel spoke to her husband, Celeborn of Doriath.

"It will long and longer before it comes."

"And she will leave."

"Leave to die?"

"It could be. Her path may have been chosen, but her path's way has not yet been carved into stone."

Galadriel looked at the child in her arms. A sight you would not think of the lady being in. Her child, Celebrían, an Elven baby, slept soundly. 

"It will begin…no matter how long it takes. Shadows and threats of what will be, and what can be defeated, if strengths of the people can hold out."

(Celebrían)

I look towards the North.

Nad no ennas. Something is out there.

It's growing. To men, it's only grown a little. To us, the Lorien Elves, and the elves who dwell in Imladris, and Mirkwood, and those elves in the north, it has grown too great. The Rings of Power are becoming ensnared by Sauron. Only one man so far, but that is one out of nine Rings. Eight rings left, adding then the Elven and Dwarven Rings.

Something is out there.

Something is coming.

I know my fate. I know it well. I have looked in my mother's mirror more than once but no less than twice. Foreordained fate that could be changed in it end. But the path to that fate is a long and winding road.

"Do you see, Celebrían?" Adar's voice. Celeborn. My adar. 

"Yes."

"The time is coming. A time of war and pain and blood against our dark Enemy of all. Will you stay? Or will you leave to fight?"

"I will follow down to the battlefields. I must help them when they fall." my eyes are at the ground, visions running through my head. The mirror's voice, "they must keep fighting. They cannot doubt , or falter, against Sauron. I must not sway."

A hand upon my face lifts my eyes from the ground. I look into my father's face. Strong, young in appearance, but so very old inside.

"You will not, my daughter." Five words he speaks. Five words I wish I could believe. Five words I must do. The task has been set. A task that will be done.

~~~~~

I wake. Mani?

A cry.

A cry shatters my heart, an urging that begins to drag. He knew this. She knew this. It is time.

Something was coming.

Something is here.

Elves know when it is time to leave and time to stay. They know when to speak, and sometimes, when to keep silent. At times they know when to shoot an arrow into the dark, sometimes they will not take the risk. But when one heeds a call, there is no intuition other than the heed. 

I hate it when I confuse myself.

So I rise. I prepare. I wash my instruments, odd shaped knives. I am not a soldier-elf.

Not a warrior, nor a fighter. I am an elf of medicine. Many elves can heal. A few less can heal extremely well. I can heal, yet heal more than they can. I know the art of healing…and the art of surgery. 

I am a battlefield surgeon.

Sounds intimidating, doesn't it?

I can save a man when he is mutilated beyond recognition by an orc. Or I can at least try. 

I finish the cleansing of my instruments, tucking them away into a worn leather bag. I re-string my bow. I have a smaller, but long knife. This is all I need. It is all I want to carry.

A knock.

"Celebrían? Are you leaving for real this time?" a joking elf voice comes from my doorway.

"Gorhirmion! I guess. I hope I am."

"Going off to fight the orcs and tend the poor bastards when they fall?"

"In the name Iluvatar, Gorhirmion! Yes, I'm pretty sure I will go do that." I say, smiling.

The male elf's features softened. "I'm sorry."

"Mellon, do not fret. I've waited to do this for a long time. I'm sure She wants to see me."

Gorhirmion nodded. "I came to get you."

I straighten my clothes of brown and grey, my medical-bag at my side, with knife and bow and quiver. Gorhirmion takes my hand.

"Estelio han, Celebrían of Lorien." he taps my head gently, "Estelio han."

Trust this.

Trust myself.

"I'm afraid we won't meet again." he says softly.

"I think we will. There is always hope, even when leave for somewhere else. Will you go to Valinor when the time comes?" I say.

Gorhirmion nods. "I may."

I clasp his shoulder for a moment.

"Naamarie."

I turn, and walk to the stairs to reach my mother. The Lady of the Wood. Princess of the Noldor. Galadriel.

"My daughter. You heed." she says to me.

"I shall."

"There is a parting gift I must give you. To remember Lorien, and to always know that there is always hope, even in the darkest of hours." she says, and something appears around my neck.

The Evenstar. A jewel given to heal and help hope. 

A dark green jewel in the outstretched wings of an eagle. A sign of hope. Hope. Hope. 

I bow.

"Thank you, o Lady of the Wood." 

She bends down to kiss my head. My father does the same. 

"Go, Celebrían. Fly." he says. I turn and I leave. I shiver with the apprehension and finality of it all. 

I leave Lorien. My home. My home.

A horse awaits. Gorhirmion is nowhere in sight. But this is his horse. 

Thank you. 

A venture into the unknown, no matter how calm it seems. There is evil. There is death. There is darkness ahead.

A shadow grows within my mind…


End file.
